superiors.
I came away from chapel very sober.
Am I too familiar, Daddy? Ought I to treat you with more dignity and
aloofness?--Yes, I'm sure I ought. I'll begin again.
My Dear Mr. Smith,
You will be pleased to hear that I passed successfully my mid-year
examinations, and am now commencing work in the new semester. I am
leaving chemistry--having completed the course in qualitative
analysis--and am entering upon the study of biology. I approach this
subject with some hesitation, as I understand that we dissect
angleworms and frogs.
An extremely interesting and valuable lecture was given in the chapel
last week upon Roman Remains in Southern France. I have never listened
to a more illuminating exposition of the subject.
We are reading Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey in connection with our course
in English Literature. What an exquisite work it is, and how
adequately it embodies his conceptions of Pantheism! The Romantic
movement of the early part of the last century, exemplified in the
works of such poets as Shelley, Byron, Keats, and Wordsworth, appeals
to me very much more than the Classical period that preceded it.
Speaking of poetry, have you ever read that charming little thing of
Tennyson's called Locksley Hall?
I am attending gymnasium very regularly of late. A proctor system has
been devised, and failure to comply with the rules causes a great deal
of inconvenience. The gymnasium is equipped with a very beautiful
swimming tank of cement and marble, the gift of a former graduate. My
room-mate, Miss McBride, has given me her bathing-suit (it shrank so
that she can no longer wear it) and I am about to begin swimming
lessons.
We had delicious pink ice-cream for dessert last night. Only vegetable
dyes are used in colouring the food. The college is very much opposed,
both from aesthetic and hygienic motives, to the use of aniline dyes.
The weather of late has been ideal--bright sunshine and clouds
interspersed with a few welcome snow-storms. I and my companions have
enjoyed our walks to and from classes--particularly from.
Trusting, my dear Mr. Smith, that this will find you in your usual good
health,
I remain,
Most cordially yours,
Jerusha Abbott
24th April
Dear Daddy,
Spring has come again! You should see how lovely the campus is. I
think you might come and look at it for yourself. Master Jervie
dropped in again last Friday--but he chose a most unpropitious time,
for Sallie and Julia and I were just running to catch a train. And
where do you think we were going? To Princeton, to attend a dance and
a ball game, if you please! I didn't ask you if I might go, because I
had a feeling that your secretary would say no. But it was entirely
regular; we had leave-of-absence from college, and Mrs. McBride
chaperoned us. We had a charming time--but I shall have to omit
details; they are too many and complicated.
Saturday
Up before dawn! The night watchman called us--six of us--and we made
coffee in a chafing dish (you never saw so many grounds!) and walked
two miles to the top of One Tree Hill to see the sun rise. We had to
scramble up the last slope! The sun almost beat us! And perhaps you
think we didn't bring back appetites to breakfast!
Dear me, Daddy, I seem to have a very ejaculatory style today; this
page is peppered with exclamations.
I meant to have written a lot about the budding trees and the new
cinder path in the athletic field, and the awful lesson we have in
biology for tomorrow, and the new canoes on the lake, and Catherine
Prentiss who has pneumonia, and Prexy's Angora kitten that strayed from
home and has been boarding in Fergussen Hall for two weeks until a
chambermaid reported it, and about my three new dresses--white and pink
and blue polka dots with a hat to match--but I am too sleepy. I am
always making this an excuse, am I not? But a girls' college is a busy
place and we do get tired by the end of the day! Particularly when the
day begins at dawn.
Affectionately,
Judy
15th May
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Is it good manners when you get into a car just to stare straight ahead
and not see anybody else?
A very beautiful lady in a very beautiful velvet dress got into the car
today, and without the slightest expression sat for fifteen minutes and
looked at a sign advertising suspenders. It doesn't seem polite to
ignore everybody else as though you were the only important person
present. Anyway, you miss a lot. While she was absorbing that silly
sign, I was studying a whole car full of interesting human beings.
The accompanying illustration is hereby reproduced for the first time.
It looks like a spider on the end of a string, but it isn't at all;
it's a picture of me learning to swim in the tank in the gymnasium.
The instructor hooks a rope into a ring in the back of my belt, and
runs it through a pulley in the ceiling. It would be a beautiful
system if one had perfect confidence in the probity of one's
instructor. I'm always afraid, though, that she will let the rope get
slack, so I keep one anxious eye on her and swim with the other, and
with this divided interest I do not make the progress that I otherwise
might.
Very miscellaneous weather we're having of late. It was raining when I
commenced and now the sun is shining. Sallie and I are going out to
play tennis--thereby gaining exemption from Gym.
A week later
I should have finished this letter long ago, but I didn't. You don't
mind, do you, Daddy, if I'm not very regular? I really do love to
write to you; it gives me such a respectable feeling of having some
family. Would you like me to tell you something? You are not the only
man to whom I write letters. There are two others! I have been
receiving beautiful long letters this winter from Master Jervie (with
typewritten envelopes so Julia won't recognize the writing). Did you
ever hear anything so shocking? And every week or so a very scrawly
epistle, usually on yellow tablet paper, arrives from Princeton. All
of which I answer with business-like promptness. So you see--I am not
so different from other girls--I get letters, too.
Did I tell you that I have been elected a member of the Senior Dramatic
Club? Very recherche organization. Only seventy-five members out of
one thousand. Do you think as a consistent Socialist that I ought to
belong?
What do you suppose is at present engaging my attention in sociology?
I am writing (figurez vous!) a paper on the Care of Dependent Children.
The Professor shuffled up his subjects and dealt them out
promiscuously, and that fell to me. C'est drole ca n'est pas?
There goes the gong for dinner. I'll post this as I pass the box.
Affectionately,
J.
4th June
Dear Daddy,
Very busy time--commencement in ten days, examinations tomorrow; lots
of studying, lots of packing, and the outdoor world so lovely that it
hurts you to stay inside.
But never mind, vacation's coming. Julia is going abroad this
summer--it makes the fourth time. No doubt about it, Daddy, goods are
not distributed evenly. Sallie, as usual, goes to the Adirondacks.
And what do you think I am going to do? You may have three guesses.
Lock Willow? Wrong. The Adirondacks with Sallie? Wrong. (I'll never
attempt that again; I was discouraged last year.) Can't you guess
anything else? You're not very inventive. I'll tell you, Daddy, if
you'll promise not to make a lot of objections. I warn your secretary
in advance that my mind is made up.
I am going to spend the summer at the seaside with a Mrs. Charles
Paterson and tutor her daughter who is to enter college in the autumn.
I met her through the McBrides, and she is a very charming woman. I am
to give lessons in English and Latin to the younger daughter, too, but
I shall have a little time to myself, and I shall be earning fifty
dollars a month! Doesn't that impress you as a perfectly exorbitant
amount? She offered it; I should have blushed to ask for more than
twenty-five.
I finish at Magnolia (that's where she lives) the first of September,
and shall probably spend the remaining three weeks at Lock Willow--I
should like to see the Semples again and all the friendly animals.
How does my programme strike you, Daddy? I am getting quite
independent, you see. You have put me on my feet and I think I can
almost walk alone by now.
Princeton commencement and our examinations exactly coincide--which is
an awful blow. Sallie and I did so want to get away in time for it,
but of course that is utterly impossible.
Goodbye, Daddy. Have a nice summer and come back in the autumn rested
and ready for another year of work. (That's what you ought to be
writing to me!) I haven't any idea what you do in the summer, or how
you amuse yourself. I can't visualize your surroundings. Do you play
golf or hunt or ride horseback or just sit in the sun and meditate?
Anyway, whatever it is, have a good time and don't forget Judy.
10th June
Dear Daddy,
This is the hardest letter I ever wrote, but I have decided what I must
do, and there isn't going to be any turning back. It is very sweet and
generous and dear of you to wish to send me to Europe this summer--for
the moment I was intoxicated by the idea; but sober second thoughts
said no. It would be rather illogical of me to refuse to take your
money for college, and then use it instead just for amusement! You
mustn't get me used to too many luxuries. One doesn't miss what one
has never had; but it's awfully hard going without things after one has
commenced thinking they are his--hers (English language needs another
pronoun) by natural right. Living with Sallie and Julia is an awful
strain on my stoical philosophy. They have both had things from the
time they were babies; they accept happiness as a matter of course.
The World, they think, owes them everything they want. Maybe the World
does--in any case, it seems to acknowledge the debt and pay up. But as
for me, it owes me nothing, and distinctly told me so in the beginning.
I have no right to borrow on credit, for there will come a time when
the World will repudiate my claim.
I seem to be floundering in a sea of metaphor--but I hope you grasp my
meaning? Anyway, I have a very strong feeling that the only honest
thing for me to do is to teach this summer and begin to support myself.
MAGNOLIA,
Four days later
I'd got just that much written, when--what do you think happened? The
maid arrived with Master Jervie's card. He is going abroad too this
summer; not with Julia and her family, but entirely by himself I told
him that you had invited me to go with a lady who is chaperoning a
party of girls. He knows about you, Daddy. That is, he knows that my
father and mother are dead, and that a kind gentleman is sending me to
college; I simply didn't have the courage to tell him about the John
Grier Home and all the rest. He thinks that you are my guardian and a
perfectly legitimate old family friend. I have never told him that I
didn't know you--that would seem too queer!
Anyway, he insisted on my going to Europe. He said that it was a
necessary part of my education and that I mustn't think of refusing.
Also, that he would be in Paris at the same time, and that we would run
away from the chaperon occasionally and have dinner together at nice,
funny, foreign restaurants.
Well, Daddy, it did appeal to me! I almost weakened; if he hadn't been
so dictatorial, maybe I should have entirely weakened. I can be
enticed step by step, but I WON'T be forced. He said I was a silly,
foolish, irrational, quixotic, idiotic, stubborn child (those are a few
of his abusive adjectives; the rest escape me), and that I didn't know
what was good for me; I ought to let older people judge. We almost
quarrelled--I am not sure but that we entirely did!
In any case, I packed my trunk fast and came up here. I thought I'd
better see my bridges in flames behind me before I finished writing to
you. They are entirely reduced to ashes now. Here I am at Cliff Top
(the name of Mrs. Paterson's cottage) with my trunk unpacked and
Florence (the little one) already struggling with first declension
nouns. And it bids fair to be a struggle! She is a most uncommonly
spoiled child; I shall have to teach her first how to study--she has
never in her life concentrated on anything more difficult than
ice-cream soda water.
We use a quiet corner of the cliffs for a schoolroom--Mrs. Paterson
wishes me to keep them out of doors--and I will say that I find it
difficult to concentrate with the blue sea before me and ships
a-sailing by! And when I think I might be on one, sailing off to
foreign lands--but I WON'T let myself think of anything but Latin
Grammar.
The prepositions a or ab, absque, coram, cum, de e or ex, prae, pro,
sine, tenus, in, subter, sub and super govern the ablative.
So you see, Daddy, I am already plunged into work with my eyes
persistently set against temptation. Don't be cross with me, please,
and don't think that I do not appreciate your kindness, for I
do--always--always. The only way I can ever repay you is by turning
out a Very Useful Citizen (Are women citizens? I don't suppose they
are.) Anyway, a Very Useful Person. And when you look at me you can
say, 'I gave that Very Useful Person to the world.'
That sounds well, doesn't it, Daddy? But I don't wish to mislead you.
The feeling often comes over me that I am not at all remarkable; it is
fun to plan a career, but in all probability I shan't turn out a bit
different from any other ordinary person. I may end by marrying an
undertaker and being an inspiration to him in his work.
Yours ever,
Judy
19th August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
My window looks out on the loveliest landscape--ocean-scape,
rather--nothing but water and rocks.
The summer goes. I spend the morning with Latin and English and
algebra and my two stupid girls. I don't know how Marion is ever going
to get into college, or stay in after she gets there. And as for
Florence, she is hopeless--but oh! such a little beauty. I don't
suppose it matters in the least whether they are stupid or not so long
as they are pretty? One can't help thinking, though, how their
conversation will bore their husbands, unless they are fortunate enough
to obtain stupid husbands. I suppose that's quite possible; the world
seems to be filled with stupid men; I've met a number this summer.
In the afternoon we take a walk on the cliffs, or swim, if the tide is
right. I can swim in salt water with the utmost ease you see my
education is already being put to use!
A letter comes from Mr. Jervis Pendleton in Paris, rather a short
concise letter; I'm not quite forgiven yet for refusing to follow his
advice. However, if he gets back in time, he will see me for a few
days at Lock Willow before college opens, and if I am very nice and
sweet and docile, I shall (I am led to infer) be received into favour
again.
Also a letter from Sallie. She wants me to come to their camp for two
weeks in September. Must I ask your permission, or haven't I yet
arrived at the place where I can do as I please? Yes, I am sure I
have--I'm a Senior, you know. Having worked all summer, I feel like
taking a little healthful recreation; I want to see the Adirondacks; I
want to see Sallie; I want to see Sallie's brother--he's going to teach
me to canoe--and (we come to my chief motive, which is mean) I want
Master Jervie to arrive at Lock Willow and find me not there.
I MUST show him that he can't dictate to me. No one can dictate to me
but you, Daddy--and you can't always! I'm off for the woods.
Judy
CAMP MCBRIDE,
6th September
Dear Daddy,
Your letter didn't come in time (I am pleased to say). If you wish your
instructions to be obeyed, you must have your secretary transmit them
in less than two weeks. As you observe, I am here, and have been for
five days.
The woods are fine, and so is the camp, and so is the weather, and so
are the McBrides, and so is the whole world. I'm very happy!
There's Jimmie calling for me to come canoeing. Goodbye--sorry to have
disobeyed, but why are you so persistent about not wanting me to play a
little? When I've worked all the summer I deserve two weeks. You are
awfully dog-in-the-mangerish.
However--I love you still, Daddy, in spite of all your faults.
Judy
3rd October
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Back at college and a Senior--also editor of the Monthly. It doesn't
seem possible, does it, that so sophisticated a person, just four years
ago, was an inmate of the John Grier Home? We do arrive fast in
America!
What do you think of this? A note from Master Jervie directed to Lock
Willow and forwarded here. He's sorry, but he finds that he can't get
up there this autumn; he has accepted an invitation to go yachting with
some friends. Hopes I've had a nice summer and am enjoying the country.
And he knew all the time that I was with the McBrides, for Julia told
him so! You men ought to leave intrigue to women; you haven't a light
enough touch.
Julia has a trunkful of the most ravishing new clothes--an evening gown
of rainbow Liberty crepe that would be fitting raiment for the angels
in Paradise. And I thought that my own clothes this year were
unprecedentedly (is there such a word?) beautiful. I copied Mrs.
Paterson's wardrobe with the aid of a cheap dressmaker, and though the
gowns didn't turn out quite twins of the originals, I was entirely
happy until Julia unpacked. But now--I live to see Paris!
Dear Daddy, aren't you glad you're not a girl? I suppose you think
that the fuss we make over clothes is too absolutely silly? It is. No
doubt about it. But it's entirely your fault.
Did you ever hear about the learned Herr Professor who regarded
unnecessary adornment with contempt and favoured sensible, utilitarian
clothes for women? His wife, who was an obliging creature, adopted
'dress reform.' And what do you think he did? He eloped with a chorus
girl.
Yours ever,
Judy
PS. The chamber-maid in our corridor wears blue checked gingham
aprons. I am going to get her some brown ones instead, and sink the
blue ones in the bottom of the lake. I have a reminiscent chill every
time I look at them.
17th November
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Such a blight has fallen over my literary career. I don't know whether
to tell you or not, but I would like some sympathy--silent sympathy,
please; don't re-open the wound by referring to it in your next letter.
I've been writing a book, all last winter in the evenings, and all the
summer when I wasn't teaching Latin to my two stupid children. I just
finished it before college opened and sent it to a publisher. He kept
it two months, and I was certain he was going to take it; but yesterday
morning an express parcel came (thirty cents due) and there it was back
again with a letter from the publisher, a very nice, fatherly
letter--but frank! He said he saw from the address that I was still at
college, and if I would accept some advice, he would suggest that I put
all of my energy into my lessons and wait until I graduated before
beginning to write. He enclosed his reader's opinion. Here it is:
'Plot highly improbable. Characterization exaggerated. Conversation
unnatural. A good deal of humour but not always in the best of taste.
Tell her to keep on trying, and in time she may produce a real book.'
Not on the whole flattering, is it, Daddy? And I thought I was making
a notable addition to American literature. I did truly. I was
planning to surprise you by writing a great novel before I graduated.
I collected the material for it while I was at Julia's last Christmas.
But I dare say the editor is right. Probably two weeks was not enough
in which to observe the manners and customs of a great city.
I took it walking with me yesterday afternoon, and when I came to the
gas house, I went in and asked the engineer if I might borrow his
furnace. He politely opened the door, and with my own hands I chucked
it in. I felt as though I had cremated my only child!
I went to bed last night utterly dejected; I thought I was never going
to amount to anything, and that you had thrown away your money for
nothing. But what do you think? I woke up this morning with a
beautiful new plot in my head, and I've been going about all day
planning my characters, just as happy as I could be. No one can ever
accuse me of being a pessimist! If I had a husband and twelve children
swallowed by an earthquake one day, I'd bob up smilingly the next
morning and commence to look for another set.
Affectionately,
Judy
14th December
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
I dreamed the funniest dream last night. I thought I went into a book
store and the clerk brought me a new book named The Life and Letters of
Judy Abbott. I could see it perfectly plainly--red cloth binding with
a picture of the John Grier Home on the cover, and my portrait for a
frontispiece with, 'Very truly yours, Judy Abbott,' written below. But
just as I was turning to the end to read the inscription on my
tombstone, I woke up. It was very annoying! I almost found out whom
I'm going to marry and when I'm going to die.
Don't you think it would be interesting if you really could read the
story of your life--written perfectly truthfully by an omniscient
author? And suppose you could only read it on this condition: that
you would never forget it, but would have to go through life knowing
ahead of time exactly how everything you did would turn out, and
foreseeing to the exact hour the time when you would die. How many
people do you suppose would have the courage to read it then? or how
many could suppress their curiosity sufficiently to escape from reading
it, even at the price of having to live without hope and without
surprises?
Life is monotonous enough at best; you have to eat and sleep about so
often. But imagine how DEADLY monotonous it would be if nothing
unexpected could happen between meals. Mercy! Daddy, there's a blot,
but I'm on the third page and I can't begin a new sheet.
I'm going on with biology again this year--very interesting subject;
we're studying the alimentary system at present. You should see how
sweet a cross-section of the duodenum of a cat is under the microscope.
Also we've arrived at philosophy--interesting but evanescent. I prefer
biology where you can pin the subject under discussion to a board.
There's another! And another! This pen is weeping copiously. Please
excuse its tears.
Do you believe in free will? I do--unreservedly. I don't agree at all
with the philosophers who think that every action is the absolutely
inevitable and automatic resultant of an aggregation of remote causes.
That's the most immoral doctrine I ever heard--nobody would be to blame
for anything. If a man believed in fatalism, he would naturally just
sit down and say, 'The Lord's will be done,' and continue to sit until
he fell over dead.
I believe absolutely in my own free will and my own power to
accomplish--and that is the belief that moves mountains. You watch me
become a great author! I have four chapters of my new book finished
and five more drafted.
This is a very abstruse letter--does your head ache, Daddy? I think
we'll stop now and make some fudge. I'm sorry I can't send you a
piece; it will be unusually good, for we're going to make it with real
cream and three butter balls.
Yours affectionately,
Judy
PS. We're having fancy dancing in gymnasium class. You can see by the
accompanying picture how much we look like a real ballet. The one at
the end accomplishing a graceful pirouette is me--I mean I.
26th December
My Dear, Dear, Daddy,
Haven't you any sense? Don't you KNOW that you mustn't give one girl
seventeen Christmas presents? I'm a Socialist, please remember; do you
wish to turn me into a Plutocrat?
Think how embarrassing it would be if we should ever quarrel! I should
have to engage a moving-van to return your gifts.
I am sorry that the necktie I sent was so wobbly; I knit it with my own
hands (as you doubtless discovered from internal evidence). You will
have to wear it on cold days and keep your coat buttoned up tight.
Thank you, Daddy, a thousand times. I think you're the sweetest man
that ever lived--and the foolishest!
Judy
Here's a four-leaf clover from Camp McBride to bring you good luck for
the New Year.
9th January
Do you wish to do something, Daddy, that will ensure your eternal
salvation? There is a family here who are in awfully desperate
straits. A mother and father and four visible children--the two older
boys have disappeared into the world to make their fortune and have not
sent any of it back. The father worked in a glass factory and got
consumption--it's awfully unhealthy work--and now has been sent away to
a hospital. That took all their savings, and the support of the family
falls upon the oldest daughter, who is twenty-four. She dressmakes for
$1.50 a day (when she can get it) and embroiders centrepieces in the
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